Vegas tried to lift a hand. Gemma took it. “He’s cold,” she said to no one in particular.
“Don’t . . . let . . . him,” Vegas said, his eyes on Hunter tightening the tourniquet on his upper arm. “Too . . . late.”
“You let them do what they’re going to do, baby boy,” Gemma said.
Bambi leaned over him, slapping his arm looking for a vein. Finding a vein would be a miracle. He’d already bled out too much.
“Get that flashlight on his leg,” Ben snapped. Gemma had been distracted talking to the lieutenant and moved the beam. She brought the flashlight directly over the wound as his hands navigated the pulpy flesh. “Got the artery. Got it pinched off,” he said triumphantly.
“Hurts,” Vegas said, sucking in a whistling breath between his teeth. Gemma locked her gaze onto his.
“I know,” she said softly. “You can do this. We’re going to take it one second at a time. You can do anything for a second. I’m tapping the back of your hand, if you can feel it, move your finger.” His finger moved against her hand. “Good. I’m going to tap out seconds. Like this.” She tapped against his fingers. “Every touch means you made it through another second. Seconds turn into minutes. Minutes into hours. Before you know it, you’ll be aboard ship. Then on your way home.”
“Don’t . . .”
The lieutenant’s free hand rose and latched on to Hunter’s wrist. “It’s . . . okay. Tell them.” He sucked in a breath and groaned. “Tell them I know . . . where I’m going.”
Hunter clamped his hand over his friend’s hand. “You’re not going anywhere,” he said fiercely.
“Oh yeah he is. The boats are here,” Bambi said. “You, my man, are going to a nice clean bed.”
Ben felt life slip from the SEAL.
“In a few days you’ll have every single nurse in the hospital fighting to take care of you,” Bambi went on.
The last breath Vegas pulled into his lungs escaped in a long sigh.
“Fuck, no,” Hunter shouted. He pushed Gemma back, leaned over the man and began chest compressions. Bambi tilted the man’s head, put his mouth over his friend’s and began respirations. Ben sat back on his heels watching the two men and slowly released the artery he’d fought to pinch off. He raised a hand to touch Hunter’s arm and tell him it was no use. Gemma blocked him and shook her head. He understood. Nothing he could say would make them stop working to save their friend. Eventually they’d realize. Gemma continued to hold the lieutenant’s hand. If Ben had any doubt that Gemma was the woman who saved his life, it was now gone. What she told the lieutenant was exactly what she had told him. And it was her voice. The voice of an angel. Soft, calm, and gentle.
Bright lights bounced and swayed through the tangle of undergrowth followed by men carrying cases of medical gear. Hunter stopped compressions. After a moment he put a hand on Bambi’s shoulder. “He’s done.” Bambi didn’t stop. Hunter leaned. “It’s okay to stop.” Bambi blew another breath and stopped, then slowly sat back. Ben did his best to cover the wound with shreds of Vegas’s pants. Gemma gently laid down his hand and stood. “Let’s give them some space,” she said.
They moved off a few feet, watching the scene. Intensity vaporized into a somber and subdued atmosphere and he felt oddly detached.
This was the worst part of being a doctor. Experiencing life slip from the organism called the human body and not being able to prevent it. To experience life leaving the particularly strong body of the lieutenant was excruciating. “I did everything I could.”
“Don’t make this about you,” she said.
He gave her a hard look. “What are you talking about?”
“I know you did everything you could. We both know there was . . .” She took in a stutter breath. “He died doing his job. His duty. Something that matters. Not because you couldn’t save him.” She turned her tear-streaked face to him. “Do you understand?”
“Yes.” He did.
They went silent watching Hunter and Bambi prepare Vegas to be moved.
Gemma turned her back to the scene but he couldn’t tear his eyes from the body. “Listen carefully to what I’m going to tell you.” He nodded. “Soon, we’re going to be hustled out of here.” Her voice dropped so low he was forced to turn and lean in to hear her. “When they get to us, let me do the talking. They ask you a question, give me a chance to answer for you. If I don’t, you answer. Don’t offer any information. The less said here on the ground the less confusion.”
“You want to explain?”
She grasped his arm and maneuvered him away from the others. “There’s a lot going on over there.” She cocked her head in the direction of the boats. “There will be plenty of time to answer questions later in a more controlled environment.”
“Ma’am,” a voice said from behind them. They looked over their shoulders to see a man dressed in camouflage like the SEALs with U.S. Secret Service stenciled on his vest. “I’m . . .” He gave them an up-and-down look. “Jesus, you’re wounded.” The man clicked on a flashlight, moving it over Gemma, then Ben.
Ben looked at her bloodstained clothes then down at his own. She held out her arms, palms up, twisting them over and back again. “Not mine,” Gemma whispered.
“Not ours,” Ben agreed, looking past the agent to the SEALs.
“Beg to differ, ma’am. Your arms are covered in scratches.” He shifted the light to her face. “Your head.” He shook his head. The beam moved to Ben’s arms. “You too, sir. Need to get you out of here.” He put a hand on Gemma’s shoulder, guiding her away.
“But what about . . . ?” Ben looked back at the SEALs again. It didn’t feel right leaving the lieutenant.
Gemma touched his arm. “His brothers are taking care of him.”
As if he knew what they were talking about, Hunter looked up and gave a nod.
A macheted trail and lights made walking relatively easy. The agent, Money Man, who never gave them his name, stopped, removed his hat and held it out to Gemma. “Put it on, pull it down as far as you can and keep your face down.” Then he removed his U.S. Secret Service vest and body armor, holding the vest out to Ben. “Same goes for you, sir. Don’t make eye contact with anyone here on the ground,” he said while helping Gemma into the body armor. “Keep your heads down like you’re watching where you walk. Anyone speaks to us, I’ll answer.”
“Mind telling me why we’re doing all of this,” Ben said.
“Sir.” The agent glanced around and tugged on his ear. “This isn’t our show. The Colombians and Ecuadorians are in charge. While friendly, it’s not uncommon to have leaks. Seeing a woman here raises questions. Discovering a U.S. Coast Guard admiral was on the ground during an op raises questions we don’t want to answer. The presence of a doctor from a nonpolitical medical organization at a major drug op could mean future problems for all medical teams.” He pulled on a mud-colored ski mask, covering everything but his eyes and mouth. “We’ll move quickly from here to a Coast Guard small boat.”
“Agent—Money Man, how did they find out the doctor and I were here?” Gemma said. Ben assumed the they meant whoever was in those boats offshore.
“As soon as it went bad Vegas reported you were here and asked for a priority evac on the encrypted sat phone. We need to—”
“Can you take me someplace where I can at least see the sub and boat?” Gemma interrupted.
The agent tipped his head and squinted through the opening in the mask.
“Stopping these people is what I do for a living,” Gemma said. “To be this close and not get a chance to see it . . .”
The agent was silent for a moment considering her request. “This way.”
Ben wasn’t prepared for the scene. The river was hardly more than a ten-yard-wide channel. To the left men worked on clearing the trees from the water. To their right men swarmed over a boat tied to a crude-looking dull gray submarine. “What’s that thing made out of?” he said low. It looked like papier-mâché.
“The
sub?” the agent said.
“Fiberglass,” Gemma said. “It’s painted with something that helps prevent radar detection.” Gemma looked at the agent. “Have you been inside?”
“Not yet. As soon as I get you safely on your way out of here, I’ll go aboard.”
“You have no idea how much I’d like to go with you.”
“Ma’am.” The agent rubbed the back of his neck. “I wish I could but . . .”
“I know.” Gemma looked wistfully across at the boats. “I hope what you’re looking for is there.”
Chapter 9
Gemma and Ben boarded a boat to take them to a cutter waiting a few hundred yards away in deep water. Their small boat was retrieved aboard and the cutter’s captain, Sue O’Donnell, an officer Gemma had served with, greeted her formally.
“Admiral, this way please.” O’Donnell gestured to a passageway leading inside, not to a waiting helo.
Gemma didn’t move. “The helo isn’t ready?”
“It’s ready but . . .” O’Donnell stepped close. “You and Dr. Walsh should get cleaned up and I want you checked out by a health tech. It won’t hurt to get some food in you either.”
Gemma said nothing, looking at the women and men surrounding them studying her and Ben.
O’Donnell leaned closer. “Gemma, your clothes are blood-soaked, wet, and muddy.”
Gemma glanced to Ben. The cutter’s lights turned the predawn sky into day. He looked like he’d been in a bloody battle. She must look the same. O’Donnell was right. Sitting in these clothes for hours would become uncomfortable. “Yes,” she said. “Thank you.”
Gemma showered in O’Donnell’s quarters. The health tech went over her many scrapes and bruises, applying antibacterial cream and giving her pain meds for the soreness setting in. She dressed in the blue Coast Guard work uniform provided, buttoning up the shirt all the way to the neck to hide bruises and leaving the sleeves down to cover multiple scratches. Forty-five minutes after coming aboard, she made her way through familiar surroundings to the cutter’s galley to join Ben.
O’Donnell had offered the officers’ mess for their use but she’d declined. The room was small and more than likely they’d be alone. Here with the crew comings and goings she’d be reminded of who she was and more able to keep it all business between them.
She found him seated at a table with a plate of scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast in front of him, circling a stir stick in a coffee mug. His hair was wet and combed back, the bright overhead lighting exposing flicks of silver. He’d forgone shaving his three-day beard. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled to the elbows, exposing scrapes and cuts. He looked up and gave her the wide smile he’d shown her that first day. The one that had made her stomach flip and drawn her in like moths to a high-beam light. He pushed to his feet, scanning her carefully.
“I’d hold a chair out for you but they’re . . .” He looked down at the bench seating that was bolted to the floor. Nonetheless, he came and stood behind her. When she was seated he bent and whispered, “I don’t know how I’m supposed to treat an admiral. If I do something wrong, let me know.” The smile in his voice put a smile on her face.
“I will.”
Before Ben was seated again, a plate of food and a steaming coffee mug was placed in front of her.
“Can I get you anything else, ma’am?” the eager young woman asked when she returned with four water bottles and a pot of coffee.
“Thank you. This is fine.” Gemma glanced around. Everyone in the mess was watching. Ben followed her gaze, tipped his head to a group.
“They’ll want us in the air in a few. You better eat what you can unless being in the helo upsets your stomach.”
“Nothing upsets my stomach.” He took a bite of the egg sandwich he’d made.
“Your hand.” A silicone bandage covered the back of his left hand. “Is it serious?” The words “surgeon” and “hand injury” did not go together. Instinctively she reached out but caught herself and rested her hand on the table.
He put down the sandwich. “No. Wanted to keep it clean.” He made a fist and opened it, resting his hand on hers.
“Anyplace else?” She looked anxiously at his arms and then his face. He applied a gentle pressure to her hand. “Relax, survivor admiral woman, I’m fine. A very efficient kid came in and cleaned everything out. Didn’t you hear me screaming when he poured on the antiseptic?”
She couldn’t suppress a smile. “That was you?”
He hitched his chin. “You?” He looked pointedly at her neck, where bruising was visible above her collar.
“Same as you, minor scratches and bruises. I’ll live.”
His smile vanished. “We both had a lot of blood on us, and with these cuts and scrapes,” he said, going doctor, “we should be tested for HIV first thing.”
Gemma shook her head. “The team—back there on the ground—will take blood and DNA from everyone. We’ll be notified if we . . . if any of that is . . .” She withdrew her hand from under his and wrapped it around her coffee mug, considering her next words carefully.
“I.” She started faltering at the way his dark eyes locked onto her. “Thank you for saving my ass back there.”
“Didn’t want you to fail at your primary goal.” His smile reached his eyes.
God almighty. Saying good-bye to this man and wiping him from her memory was going to be one hard-ass thing to do. “I mean it, Walsh.” Her hand went to her throat, remembering her world going gray while hands held her underwater. Choking the life from her. “You saved my life.”
“And you didn’t save mine?”
Keep it professional, she thought. “Dr. Walsh.” The formality of the address and tone got his full attention. “Listen to me carefully. Once we’re on the helo anything we say will be recorded. On the plane to D.C. we will be questioned. This is the last time we’ll talk with any degree of privacy.”
“D.C.? I’m not being taken back to Esmeraldas?”
“No. I’m being flown back to D.C., and since you are from the area it’s more convenient.”
“The hell it is. They could get me to Esmeraldas in less than an hour and a half.”
“It’s for your safety, Doc.” It was also a way to isolate and convince him national security depended on his silence, which of course it didn’t. His own security sure as hell did. A single slip at the wrong time, heard by the wrong ears, and he could become a cartel target. At best, ending his days of volunteering in South America. At worst, ending his life. They would both be given an official cover story and it would be suggested in the strongest of terms he stick to it. She, on the other hand, would be given a direct order.
“We’re going to be taken to Panama by helo. From there it’s a government jet to D.C.”
“One of those like congressmen and senators use, I hope. With full champagne service.”
“Pay attention, Dr. Walsh.” She paused and lifted her coffee cup. “On that jet we will be questioned.”
“About what?” He pushed his plate away. “The SEAL’s death? The bad guys?”
Gemma sipped her coffee and peered at him over the rim of the mug.
“All of the above and . . . me.”
“You?” He cracked the lid on a bottle of water. “What would they ask about you?” He paused. “They aren’t going to blame you for Vegas’s death?”
“No. Our presence had no bearing on what happened to him.”
“Then what? How you protected me? Did your job and saved my life.”
Gemma put the cup down and leaned over the table. “They’ll want to know everything from the moment I arrived in Ecuador.” He gave her a puzzled look. “I’m part of a narco-terrorism committee pushing the government to become more involved in stopping drugs at the source.” Ben said nothing. “I’ve been very vocal.” He didn’t make the connection. “I changed the flight plan. Flew directly past where the sub was hidden. We were fired on. After ditching we went north into the action.” His expression sobere
d.
“The Coast Guard would accuse you of setting all that up?” he said incredulously.
She shook her head “Not the Coast Guard. Not ever the Coast Guard.” She hesitated. “This was a highly sensitive operation. For me to drop into the middle of it . . .” Gemma raised and dipped her shoulder. “Questions are bound to be raised.”
“What should I tell them?”
“Tell the truth as you see it. Never lie. It will catch up with you.”
“The truth as I see it?”
“Yes, don’t attempt to tell them the version you think they want to hear or match what I’m going to say. Understand?”
“Why didn’t you tell me who you were the first day?”
Shit! The bite of toast she’d taken expanded in her mouth. She didn’t see that coming. Sure, tell you I’m an admiral. Sam and Olivia’s mother, a woman fourteen years older who fell in lust with you the moment she saw you. She forced the toast down her throat and managed to keep a grip on the forkful of eggs when the clarity bomb hit. If she’d told him who she was that first day, he would’ve left her alone. She’d wanted his attention. She’d enjoyed every second knowing it would end when he discovered she was practically old enough to be his mother. Gawd, she’d been incredibly arrogant. “I apologize. Sam and I thought it would be better not to let anyone know.” Sam didn’t see any point in keeping her identity quiet. And double gawd! Here she’d been cautioning him about telling the whole truth when she was hiding so much.
In her peripheral vision Gemma saw O’Donnell come into the mess. She made a move to stand. Ben reached out, holding her arm.
“When we get back, have dinner with me.”
Gemma blinked. “Like a date?” Crap. That was professional.
“What, admirals don’t date?”
She clucked. “Of course. Why?” She glared at her coffee as if the liquid were doctored with say-something-stupid juice.
“I want to talk.” Before she could ask about what, he went on. “I want to get to know you without planes crashing, trees falling, people trying to kill us and being surrounded by”—he shifted his gaze to O’Donnell, who now stood next to the table—“military types.”
Under Fire: The Admiral Page 9